The summer I read the fifth Harry Potter book, I was angry. I couldn’t have told you what I was so angry about, and I can’t tell you now. In fact, I probably wouldn’t remember that I was angry all this time later, except for one thing.
Harry was angry. Harry was so angry that he spent portions of the book talking in all caps. I was angry, and I spent 870 pages living inside an angry person’s head, and that made me angrier still.
Before I go on, I feel I have to say, I loved the Harry Potter series. I had to avoid reading each book until I was ready to give over the next forty-eight hours of my life to it wholly and completely, because once I began reading I was not going to stop until I finished. Still, here’s the truth:
That summer, I hated that book.
There’s that scene halfway through where the Weasley twins have finally had enough. And they set off all their not-so-practical jokes in the hallway at Hogwarts and hop on their broomsticks and fly off, giving the family-friendly finger to Umbridge and all of the stifling, maddening nonsense that came with her. This, to me, remains one of the most satisfying moments in all of literature.
They just left. And maybe that’s why one of them wasn’t the chosen one who was ready to save the world, but they also didn’t have to sit around and be mad.
And you know, I didn’t stay angry, either. I moved on from that summer. I escaped from the things and the places that were making me feel so trapped that I wanted to speak in all capital letters myself.
And when I feel like screaming at the stifling, maddeningness of the world, I still think about the Weasley twins. There are other ways of dealing with life than sitting around being angry.
Their way was certainly a lot more fun.
I have a post up today at the Apocalypsies blog about a day in my life. And don’t forget about my giveaway, running through Monday, and please do come to the release of CHASING THE SKIP, if you’re in the area and so inclined.
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